


And The Air We Breathe Will Take Us

by fizzyblogic (phizzle)



Category: All-American Rejects
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-27
Updated: 2007-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-07 21:38:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/fizzyblogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For my decor_noctis <3</p>
    </blockquote>





	And The Air We Breathe Will Take Us

**Author's Note:**

> For my decor_noctis &lt;3

The first time it was because of the movement of the bus. Either they'd turned a corner and found a red light, or there had been some sort of sharp overtaking, or _something_, but whatever it was, the entire bus jerked and shuddered so hard that Tyson slipped out of Nick and was pressed up to the small of his back.

"Aw, shit –" Tyson muttered, grasping Nick's hips and starting to manoeuvre back inside, but he stopped short at Nick's intake of breath.

"Fuck," Nick whispered, so softly that Tyson barely heard it. He paused, and then pressed harder into the small of Nick's back. "Oh shit, fuck, Ty." There was still hardly any sound in it, just a rush of breath shaped around the words. Nick's hands were curling inward as Tyson watched, grinding softly against his back.

"Nick?" he murmured, leaning down so his chest brushed along the length of Nick's spine. He felt him shudder, and curved a smile against the back of Nick's ear. "Oh, really?" he breathed, grinding slow but determined. Nick whimpered and bucked and _writhed_, and Tyson leaned to lick up and down the Brotherhood tattoo. Nick shivered. Tyson moved, tongue tracing the patterns in the Hysteria tattoo, all the time grinding softly, slowly against the small of Nick's back.

"Please, Ty," Nick breathed. He was shaking, and Tyson groaned.

"Fuck, Nicky, that's." Tyson ground harder against him, realising the hand on Nick's cock had stilled; he gave it a soft squeeze and found his rhythm again.

A noise emitted from Nick's throat that sounded like the bastard lovechild of a whine and a growl spliced in a gene lab with three gasps and a groan. It was as if he tried to make eight sounds at once and only fragments of each survived.

"Oh, _Nick_," Tyson exhaled, grinding harder, jerking with his hand, and Nick came two seconds before he did. A hot jet hit his chest and Nick's back.

Tyson contemplated it for a second as Nick shook, raised up on his arms and trying to get his breath back. Tyson shifted, softly began licking the come off Nick's back.

"Oh holy fuck Ty," Nick whimpered, so quiet, so fucking _quiet_ and Tyson made wide sweeps with his tongue, filing away the information 'always, always, ALWAYS lick Nick's back' in a carefully-labelled folder of his short-term memory. (The label read "DO NOT LOSE. TRANSFER TO LONG-TERM FOR PERMANENT STORAGE." It was where he kept, among other things, the knowledge of exactly when and how and where to flick his tongue while going down on Nick; the lyrics to seven of his favourite Beach Boys songs, all of which he'd put on a mix CD when he was fifteen and given to Nick while trying not to blush; and the entire sealed bubble of the memory of the first time Nick had kissed him, the smell of the bar, the burn of his forming calluses as he touched Nick's waist under his shirt with his fingertips, the taste of the beer on Nick's lips and breath and tongue, the chorus of the song on the jukebox coming through the door, how breathy Nick had sounded when they pulled apart and he'd just said, "Yeah.")

Tyson palmed Nick's hip and murmured into his ear, "You like that, baby?" Nick's answer was a groan. They turned, moved, shifted, using a Kleenex or two to clear up the rest of the mess. Tyson dropped them on the floor and they settled, chest to chest, knees jostling into position tucked against and between each other, noses close. "I'll have to remember that."

Nick bit his lip. "Yeah," he breathed, inching forwards until their lips met, a gentle kiss. "Yeah."

The second time, it was the day after and one of those nights where they slept in a hotel. Nick called the shower pretty much immediately; Chris and Tyson fought with mime lightsabers while Kennerty provided commentary from the bed, which he was kneeling up and bouncing gently up and down on – "And Gaylor gets in with a slash to the chest, but oh! What's this? Ritter is hitting back with a low hit to the stomach, ow, that's gotta hurt." – and by the time Nick emerged, one towel wrapped around his waist and the other ruffling through his hair carefully (Nick had explained to him once how towel action is important and the entire way your hair sits for the rest of the day is dependent on getting the right vigour to the drying, but Tyson had forgotten it two hours later and really, he just liked to watch Nick's face when he talked about shit like that) Chris had Tyson in a headlock and Mike was standing above them, counting them out.

Tyson twisted at the last moment before Mike could call it over, and kicked Chris in the calf as he went. "Oh you fucker, you're gonna _get it_," Chris yelped, and Tyson ducked and weaved and tried to hide behind Nick; the towel came off in the kerfuffle and Tyson ended up with his arms wrapped tightly around Nick's waist, hanging on for dear life as Chris tried to drag him away with the help of Mike.

"Save me," he pleaded up to Nick, who was naked and just smiled down at him.

"I am nothing to do with this," he said, and somehow his accent came in thicker so he pronounced "I" as "Ah". Also, he was naked.

Tyson clung to him, dramatic burst of tears. "Nicky, please don' – don' leave me to the horror." He clung tighter. Nick just smiled at him, naked.

"You'll _get_ what's _coming_ to you," Chris growled. Mike was laughing, the fucker. Nick, in a movement that showed whose side he was ultimately on, put his forearms around Tyson's neck and held on.

He was still naked. Tyson was finding it increasingly harder to concentrate on anything else.

"Come _here_ y'bastard." Chris yanked, and Tyson held on tighter to Nick's naked waist.

"Not _gonna_." Tyson gritted his teeth. Nick turned his neck to look at Mike, both of them laughing softly as Chris's grip began to fail.

"Help, nake- uh. _Nick_, help, Nick." Tyson wasn't blushing, but he sort of felt like, if there'd been anyone else in the room, he might have. Chris dropped his legs and snorted.

"Okay, I think we all know what's on _his_ mind," he laughed, all menace gone from his voice. "Mike, that's our cue."

"I call the shower first!" Mike dashed through the connecting door to his and Chris's room, and Chris laughed and followed.

"Not if I call sharing," he said, yanking his shirt off before the door swung shut.

Tyson was still holding onto Nick's waist, though his grip had slackened. Nick smiled down at him; his smile was soft, his hands were moving to pet Tyson's hair, and he was still very unclothed. He was not, however, very turned on just yet.

Tyson, on the other hand, was. (Nick was _naked_.) He shifted around the compass of Nick's waist, until his breath stirred coarse hairs, and he licked and nuzzled softly.

Nick tilted his head back. "Ty," he whispered, fingers tangling in Tyson's hair. Tyson kept up a soft pattern of nuzzles and licks until Nick was mostly hard, breathing fast. Tyson's eyes crawled up the expanse of Nick's stomach and chest – rested for a moment or three on the tattoo – and then found his. Tyson watched Nick watching him as he took Nick's cock into his mouth, sank down as far as he could go onto it, and sucked, once, softly.

Nick groaned. Tyson seriously considered humping his leg.

A thump and a sound came from next door, through the wall. By the yelp, it sounded like Mike had just come. Tyson released Nick's cock with a soft wet sound and, over Nick's whimper, said, "Bed. Now."

Nick nodded, and they separated body contact only for as much time as it took to get there and for Tyson to shuck off his jeans. Nick pulled his shirt over his head for him and kissed him, slow, _burning_.

"On your knees," Tyson murmured, and Nick nodded, exhaling as he shifted up onto all fours, waiting as Tyson positioned himself behind. He smiled, leaned forward, and whispered into Nick's ear, "Lower."

Nick paused for a second, opening his mouth to ask; but then he blinked, closing it again and settling a little closer to the bed. Close enough.

"Told you I'd remember it," Tyson whispered as he untwisted the lube cap. He slicked up his cock and left some on his palm, wrapping that hand around Nick's as he positioned himself and started sliding against the small of Nick's back.

Nick's hands balled into fists, the duvet caught between them. He exhaled shakily, mouth open and tilted down, neck curving. Tyson set a rhythm with his hips, matched it with his hand, and Nick started shaking. Small sounds escaped his throat; desperate, pleading, _broken_. "Fuck," he managed after a few minutes, mouth slackening around the word as Tyson ground harder into his back. "You," he panted, "fuck," arching his neck up and half groaning, half whimpering, "oh _fuck Ty_." He pushed back and tried to thrust into Tyson's hand at the same time.

"Jesus, Nick." Tyson softly bit at the edges of the tattoos on Nick's back, smoothing the skin with his tongue. Nick's neck curved back downwards again, his mouth still hanging open, eyes closed and chest heaving and Tyson had never, in his entire fucking _life_, seen anything hotter than this, heard anything sexier than the noises Nick was making, felt more turned on. He tingled to the soles of his feet and shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut as heat pooled and mounted and his balls tightened – he shouted, "_Fuck, Nick_," came with one convulsion, and saw stars on his eyelids.

Nick was still shaking and whimpering and breathing hard when Tyson opened his eyes, and close, so _close_, and Tyson curled and reached and licked up the come on Nick's back. At the first swipe of his tongue, Nick let a sound out like he'd been holding in every whimper, every moan and they all rushed out at once, high-pitched and full of breath and need. At the second swipe, the sound got higher, breathier, and at the third swipe Nick groaned _loudly_ and shuddered hard and came over Tyson's hand and the shirt they'd splayed over the duvet. (They were nothing if not quick learners when it came to avoiding having to sleep in sticky covers.)

"Oh shit," Nick exhaled, relaxing piece by piece. They collapsed onto the bed, bonelessly cleaning up and tossing the shirt aside. "Oh shit."

Tyson curled around him, warming at the way Nick's arms found their places in the contours of his body. They lay for a few minutes, sweat cooling, and then listlessly switched the lights off, crawled under the covers and resettled. "'m gonna keep doing that," Tyson mumbled, sleepy, "until it's not the hottest fucking thing in the world."

"Gonna be a while," Nick murmured, running fingertips through Tyson's hair. "Feels fucking – dude, just fucking _amazing_, oh god."

Tyson thoughtfully ran one hand down Nick's back, palm and fingertips skating down his spine. Nick's mouth curved in a smile. Tyson let his fingertips linger in the hollow at the small of Nick's back, and thought about the skin, the nerve endings, this collection of cells hotwired in Nick's brain to '_holy shit yes_', and crawled over him to kiss it, run his tongue over the patch of skin. Nick whimpered, a little.

"What are you," he exhaled, not really a question, just the start of one.

Tyson crawled back to face him again, limbs resettling. "Just appreciating," he said, and he smiled at Nick, nuzzling their noses together. "Go to sleep," he murmured, kissing the tip of Nick's nose.

"You're still awake," Nick pointed out, though his eyes were closed and his voice sounded drenched in sleep.

Tyson waited a few seconds, as Nick breathed. He watched the way the light fell on Nick's eyes, shadows where his eyelashes rested. Nick's entire body slowly, gently, went slack as his breathing deepened.

Tyson kept watching. His eyelids drooped, but he forced them back open as Nick smiled in his sleep for a moment. He watched the play of light from the windows on Nick's hair, the shape of his ear in the dark. A watch ticked somewhere, and Tyson suddenly noticed it, as if time had decided to grab his attention. His eyes tried to close again.

"Come on, Ritter," he whispered to himself, watching Nick's mouth through half-lidded vision, "he'll still be beautiful in the morning." He kissed the tip of Nick's nose again, settled back, and let sleep pull him down.


End file.
